


Lost and Found, Mostly

by JustSomeGirlWriting



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 03:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeGirlWriting/pseuds/JustSomeGirlWriting
Summary: Malcolm is kidnapped by the team's latest suspect. Gil is consumed with worry until he's found. And thereafter.





	Lost and Found, Mostly

When Gil gets the news that Malcolm was taken, it's like all the air leaves the room.  
It had been the profiler's own idea, of course, to be the one who went to the meeting with the person who'd been sending body parts, along with cryptic letters, to the precinct. To be the bait, essentially. Gil had said no. Malcolm had insisted. Gil said no. Malcolm had begged him, told him in might be the only way to catch the guy. Gil had acquiesced. Malcolm had been taken. 

The next hours go by in a blur. Gil, Dani and J.T. coordinate the effort the find Malcolm, to find the car he was thrown into, to find anything, anything of use.  
It doesn't pan out. Gil works into the evening, into the night, visiting the scene, making calls and checking CCTV footage from across the city. Eventually, early the next morning, Dani bundles him into a squad car and drives him home. She takes over for him as he sleeps for four fitful hours. Then back to work.

It isn't until 51 hours later, over two days, that they find the place. Some techie (God bless techies, Gil thinks) retested a stain on one of the letters. It was water, but not just any water. It contained trace amounts of some type of algae, very rare, only found in .3% of... Something, something. Gil would readily admit that he stopped taking in any information after hearing "We found the place."

When they get to the place, it's just an ordinary-looking cabin near a lake. Could be a family's home away from home during the summer. Could be a killer's lair.  
Gil takes the lead as they bust down the doors. The smell is almost enough to stop the entire squad dead in their tracks. Urine, feces, God knows what else. Gil doesn't care. He wants to find the kid. A few moments later, they do.

Malcolm is dressed only in a pair of boxers and a white undershirt, soaked through with sweat.  
He's tied to a chair and he's slumped down as far as the thick rope will allow. A dirty rag serves as a blindfold. He doesn't respond when they burst into the room, guns drawn. Doesn't respond when Gil calls his name. In the fevered moments before Gil finds a thready pulse in his neck, he can only think: he's gone. He's gone. But he's here.

Gil takes out his pocketknife and cuts Malcolm's wrists loose, his ankles.  
He winces when he sees the raw red marks left in their wake. As still as he is now, Malcolm had been struggling earlier.  
Gil removes the blindfold as the younger man falls limply forward into his arms. Still unconscious.  
For a few moments, Gil just holds him close. Then, they have to move. Gil heaves Malcolm up into a bridal carry with shocking ease- poor kid, way too thin- and carries him outside to the waiting paramedics. 

By the time they arrive in the hospital, Malcolm is still unconscious, but not nearly as quiet as he had been at that hellhole of a cabin. He's twisting around, twitching and gasping in his sleep. No amount of calling out to him, gently shaking his shoulder or patting his face will snap him out of it. They put restraints on him, soft and padded and mindful of the bandages on his wrists and ankles. Gil still hates it. The doctors say they can't give Malcolm anything to wake him up until his tox screen comes back: can't risk a dangerous drug interaction.

So Gil sits at his bedside as Malcolm shakes and gasps his way through remembered terror.  
He holds his trembling hand and gently thumbs away stray tears until finally the doctor returns. The doctor tells Gil that Malcolm was given a powerful sedative, but that it's all but left his system at this point. They can safely wake him up by administering a stimulant.

A nurse comes in with a syringe and gets straight to it, injecting it into the IV port at the crook of Malcolm's elbow.  
The effect is almost instant: Malcolm's eyes shoot open and dart frantically across the room. Gil, who had stepped back to give the medical staff room to work, immediately rushes back to his side, grabbing his tremoring hand.

When Malcolm's wide, fearful eyes finally settle on Gil's face, something appears to come undone. Gasping, hiccupping sobs begin to shake his frame. 

"Gil, Gil..."

Malcolm can barely get the name out as he lifts his manacled arms up, reaching for the agent.

"Hey, hey. You're safe. You're okay."

Gil envelops Malcolm in a hug, cupping the back of his head and holding him close to his chest. The kid can only be described as hysterical at this point: crying, shivering, trembling, trying to speak through a raw throat and chattering teeth.

"He- he- he..."

"Shh, Malc. It's okay, you don't have to talk."

"He- wouldnt- wouldn't let-let me wake up."

\---

Two weeks later, Malcolm's back at work. Gil asks, begs him to take more time off. To reconsider this job in its entirety, in fact. Malcolm brushes him off, tells him he'd have been back sooner if he didn't have to have dental surgery: he'd ground three molars almost to bits during his ordeal. Gil acquiesces eventually. He has to admit that he likes having Malcolm where he can keep an eye on him. 

Malcolm's enamel isn't the only thing that was worn down by what everyone is tactfully referring to as 'the incident'.  
If he was thin before, he's downright gaunt now. His suits are pristine as ever, but they hang loose on his body. His tremors are constant. The circles under his eyes are dark and ever present. 

The team is gentle with Malcolm. Gil even catches JT bringing him a mug of herbal-smelling tea, giving him a pat on his shoulder as he sets it down in front of him.

"Grandma's recipe. Supposed to be calming." 

He's rewarded with a smile, small but genuine. 

"Thank you."

Gil drives Malcolm home after every workday, tries to get the kid to allow him to come in, cook him dinner. It rarely works.  
Most evenings, he just thanks him, gently shuts the passenger door. Heads to the loft, shoulders hunched like he's carrying a weight. Alone.


End file.
